


Teeth

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Vamplock, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well I'm sorry that my misery is disrupting your peace, but I'm sure you can last another century even with the disturbance!" She had said, and spat out his name like a swear word. Not the name everyone else used. The name of what he truly was.</p><p>Slowly, his jaw tightened. Oh. Oh now he remembered exactly what had happened. She knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> So. There's been a lot of vamplock circulating (ha. Blood puns.) around Tumblr lately, especially in the Sherlolly tag. sO. I decided to contribute. I hope you enjoy!

If Sherlock had learned anything from his time as a consulting detective, it was that when you had been knocked unconscious, there was always reason for it. Usually not good reason, but reason nonetheless. As his sense blearily returned, he shifted, but managed to keep the groan of pain down. No. No point waking up right away. If he faked sleep, he had longer to find his bearings.

 

He was in a cage, a small one at that. He was curled up, thick steel bars pressing against his back, legs, and head. One arm was pinned underneath his body. The skin prickled with a god awful pins and needles feeling. He'd been here for some time, then. Sherlock could hear music, a familiar soundtrack but not one he could put a name on. A soundtrack from pop culture then, one that he didn't like.

 

What happened? His memory was fuzzy, still sharpening into clarity. He remembered... waking up. No, not waking up! There has to be more. He woke up, so he was at his flat during the morning. He was... working on the Pender case! Possible criminal attempting to stop him before he cracked the case? Nooo, Ms. Abbey was the one that stole her aunt's jewelry box, and she wasn't the cage-in-a-dungeon kind of suspect. Not that he was entirely sure he was in a dungeon. In fact, he doubted that the smell of fresh cookies would be wafting through a dungeon.

 

Suddenly, his memory snapped into place like a rubber band. He had stopped by Scotland Yard to pick up the case file before going over to the morgue. Not regarding the case, but he'd needed another set of femurs for a new experiment. That's when he'd run into Molly, who had come in awfully irritated. A phone call from her mother that made her late for work, going by the way she'd chewed her fingernails and forgotten to brush her hair. Also squinting, squinting meant she'd left her glasses at home as well and had to attempt paperwork without them. So he may have pointed it out. Her reaction hadn't exactly gone the best of ways.

 

 _"Well I'm sorry that my misery is disrupting your peace, but I'm sure you can last another century even with the disturbance!"_ She had said, and spat out his name like a swear word. Not the name everyone else used. The name of what he truly was.

 

Slowly, his jaw tightened. Oh. Oh now he remembered exactly. She knew. God knows how she knew, which was why he'd come to her flat. To find out how. And what she was going to do with the information. He'd assumed that Molly Hooper would be doe eyed and in awe, like those... teenage girls and their movies. He had to remind himself that he'd been taken captive and needed to remain discreet to suppress the shiver that crawled up his spine. Teenagers really were a menace. Thankfully, his longevity had blurred the memories of his own adolescence into a vague nightmare.

 

So. He was in Molly Hooper's flat, trapped in a cage. He'd never even seen the mortician coming. All he remembered was stepping through her window, and then... blackness. Until now, at least. His head was still light - impact to the head then. She wasn't planning on killing him, this was Molly... then again, he never expected Molly Hooper to put him in a cage.

 

Molly Hooper - untrustworthy. The thought had his heart pounding in his throat. He never expected to find Molly untrustworthy.

 

"I know you're awake, your breathing's changed."

 

Sherlock wrinkled his face, squeezing his eyes shut a little more. Stupid. He forgot to keep his breathing constant. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and wrestled himself into a sitting position.

 

The cage had enough height that his hair just touched the top of it, but aside from that, it was thoroughly cramped. He propped his elbows on his knees, and peered out of the thick bars at the doctor's mousy face. They were in her living room, with a computer set up on a desk beside Molly's armchair. Her legs were curled up underneath her, with her cat dozing on the armrest. On the desk, a large bowl and a plate sat. The plate was filled with the warm cookies that Sherlock had smelled.

 

Molly herself looked anxious, with that ridiculous mask people used to make it seem like they weren't. She scratched the base of Toby's neck nervously, and pinched her lips in Sherlock's direction.

 

"What kind?"

 

"S-Sorry?" Moly stuttered out. Sherlock nodded to the plate.

 

"What kind of cookie is it? You should know, I hate raisin."

 

"They're chocolate chip."

 

Sherlock nodded, "Ah."

  
Molly cut him off, exasperated, "Why did you have to break into my flat, Sherlock?"

 

"The comfortable hospitality?" he suggested dryly, turning his hands palm up to gesture to the cage.

 

"You made me!"

 

Sherlock did nothing but raise an eyebrow. Molly's bottom lip curled back, and she chewed on it. She kept her gaze firmly on her cat, and moved her other hand to rub Toby's side. Very nervous, then. He pressed his mouth tight, and tilted his head.

 

"I'm obviously your first catch," he noticed.

 

"Y-Yeah," she nodded. Molly glanced up for a moment, and nodded to the cage, "My mum gave it to me, for emergencies. But I don't-"

 

She shook her head, and then turned her attention to the computer. Moving the mouse, she closed out of whatever program was playing the music, and went back to petting Toby.

 

"I-I'm _not-_ "

 

Sherlock sighed, rolling his head back to hit it against the bars behind him.

 

"You've been told what to do with my kind. How to contain me. These bars alone aren't enough, although the thickness does make it harder, granted. Can't break through them while I'm like this. Still fuzzy." He couldn't help but smile at the way Molly sat up a little straighter, her confidence boosted. He went on, pointing out to the cloves she'd decorated around the cage, "Garlic. A good call, but a hint for the future, anything with a strong smell works. It's enough to turn anyone away,"

 

He tweaked his own nose, and let his smile widen into a smirk as the mortician visibly deflated. He propped his elbows on his legs and steepled his fingers under his chin, "None of that matters."

 

"It doesn't?"

 

It felt like something hit his stomach when Molly's face dropped in alarm. Molly was far too open with her emotions, with her fear. He was trapped because she was afraid of him. What he was. She knew about him, and when most people found out about him, that means they knew, or would know, about everything else. And every time, without fail, it was what got them hurt. If she was going to be in the know about everything other, she needed to wear stronger armour. She need better protection to keep her safe.

 

"No," he said, his voice still hard. Teaching by example, as it were. He shifted, moving his legs underneath him to lean closer to the bars. Sherlock went on, "It doesn't matter because I don't care about that. I won't use those to get out, and I'm not here to give you a containment lesson. I'm here because I want to find out how you know."

 

"Know what?"

 

"That I've lived for centuries and I'll live more yet."

 

Molly's mouth pressed shut, and her throat went tight. He could see the careful way she swallowed, the way her collarbone stuck out against her skin, so frail and breakable.

 

He waited, watching in awe as her neck moved and twitched in agitation. Finally, he opened his mouth, letting his jaw slide open like a snake's, his teeth sharpened into fangs, snarling out the word.

 

_"Vampire."_

 

Toby hissed, his fur raised before he leapt off the chair, bolting out of the room. Molly yelped when the cat jumped, her hand flying to her chest to steady her heart. She shut her eyes, and waited until she was calm. Sherlock let his mouth go back to normal, and rubbed his tender jaw. It'd been a while since he tried that trick. But the moment seemed to call for it. Molly opened her eyes, her mouth squirming before she started her explanation.

 

"My m-mum came over this morning," Molly started, rubbing her neck anxiously. The action wasn't lost on Sherlock, "I mean, I-I'm not like her, but when she's around I get... sort of like her. And I went to work, and I was upset, and then you... you..."

 

"I?" he prompted.

 

"I stepped into the lab and could smell you."

 

Sherlock sat back on his heels, his head pressing against the cage. Only other people could identify him through smell, but she wasn't able to recognize what he was the first day he met. Able to stay in a human form, meaning a mule. A half human, half other. Typically the human gene is dominant, but a mother to daughter connection, having the to-know to trap a vampire... He took a sharp breath of air as he slowly realized.

 

"You're-"

 

"I'm sorry!" Molly blurted, her legs slipping out from underneath her, "I should have told you, but I didn't know what you were, and I couldn't just tell any human-"

 

"You're a _slayer_ ," Sherlock realized, "Or your mother is, rather. A human mutation once _others_ started infiltrating your world, your kind evolved to combat the predators that came."

 

Molly's face fell, and she worried her bottom lip.

 

"Well, um... no. Not really a slayer," Molly rubbed her elbows, and Sherlock saw the way her lips fought a sheepish smile. He narrowed his eyes.

 

"What?"

 

The mortician shifted in her chair, and stood up. She picked at her nails, and finally looked up to face him.

 

"Do you know why there's vampires in the world, Sherlock?"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course. The stories that his father loved to tell. It was a bedtime lullaby. One that lasted into his adult years, granted, but Dad never tired of it.

 

"There are two worlds, this one and the realm of other-"

 

" _Other?_ " Molly stared at him in surprise. Sherlock huffed.

 

"Yes, other." At Molly's bemused look, he stiffly explained, "I don't care for the _other_ world, and my family isn't involved. We're isolated, and all I have to go on is stories."

 

Her face humbled, and she mumbled an apology. Sherlock sighed and went on.

 

"There are two worlds, and in the one that isn't this one there's magic, someone used it to create a portal, and _others_ began to filter through-"

 

"Fairies," Molly cut in, "Not others. It's fae. You have it all a bit... muddled, Sherlock. Those... slayers you're talking about, they're human. Just clever humans."

 

She moved across the room, and after hesitating, sat down cross legged on the other side of the garlic. She reached out as if to push the garlic aside, but then decided against it.

 

"If you want to fight fae, your soldiers need to be stronger than a slayer. Much faster too, it's..." Molly closed her eyes, the lids twitching a moment before she found her bearings and continued, "The human mutations you're talking about... you're technically one of them. The, um, humanoid creatures that evolved through filtered magic to survive. Vampires, and your others you talk about. Werewolves, centaurs, elves-"

 

"Let me guess. You're the real deal. _Fairy_ ," Sherlock leaned towards the bars again, one hand curling around one of them.

 

"Well... yeah. No wings though!" she added cheerfully. Her face fell when he didn't laugh, instead frowning at her. Molly's mouth fumbled over words, and she said, "Fairies are divided about you lot, really. The Unseelie, I mean, my mum, she's with the ones that think you all need to g-go away. All of you. Your others and humans in general, really."

 

"Explains the cage," Sherlock looked around the bars. Molly's look hardened, which made him pull back from the bars slightly.

 

"There's some that like you, you know. The Seelie. Fairies were the ones that gave humans the ability to protect themselves in the first place, by lending magic. But you, vampires and the rest, you're supposed to protect humans, but you... don't really do a good job. You vampires, you-you-"

 

Sherlock sighed. Not a slayer, but Molly was of the opinion that vampires truly were monsters. The opinion had gotten so tiring.

 

"Yes yes, I know. We drain the life out of our fellow man, we really are _terrible._ "

 

Molly's reaction shocked Sherlock into silence. Instead of trying to defend her stance, she didn't speak. She got onto her knees, and yanked at her clothing, the layers upon layers that she kept on, the buttons of her cuffs. She tugged her sleeve up, revealing her arm. An oval scar marred the skin of her wrist, raised pink against pale white. He's never noticed her wrist, he realized. How could he never have seen this?  _But the Christmas party_ , his mind wonders, remembering her bare shoulders, the way her hair cascaded - no. She wore a _bracelet._ And being a magical being didn't hurt.

 

"I was sixteen," she spat, her voice vicious in a way Sherlock had never heard before, "He attacked me and my dad, and Dad couldn't handle the venom. You want to know why I have a cage in my bloody flat, Sherlock Holmes? Why I can't tr-tr-trust-tr-"

 

"Molly-" Sherlock started, trying to reach through the bars, but she got to her feet, shoving her sleeve back down so that she could use her hands to swipe at the tears building in her eyes.

 

"Just d-don't say anything, Sherlock, please, not right now." she begged.

 

The silence was stifling. In the emptiness, their breathing was the loudest sound. Molly took a sharp breath, and sniffed.

 

"I wouldn't," Sherlock finally broke the silence. He had to, he couldn't stand it, the silence. Molly looked at him, hiccuping softly. He shook his head, "I haven't... I _wouldn't_ , ever, do that."

 

“It’s not just as easy as words, that you won’t h-hurt me. I mean, it’s not like..." Molly stopped herself from going on, trying to clean her face. Sherlock frowned, tilting her head.

 

"What?"

 

Molly choked out a laugh, wiping at her nose.

 

“No, really, what?”

 

She shook her head, and sniffed, "Fairies don't get married. They give their trust to people in a way humans don't. And they give their trust... it's physical."

 

Both of Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. Molly turned beet red, and waved her hands, " _No!_ No no no, it's not - no. No it's..."

 

"I'd love to hear this one."

 

"Can I have one of your teeth?" Molly burst.

 

"... Come again?"

 

Molly sighed, and plopped down in front of him again, "Fairies exchange teeth. It's like a... talisman. Magic is kept in teeth, and magic's what keeping you alive. How old are you, Sherlock?"

 

"Hasn't anyone told you it's impolite to ask one's age?" he drawled, despite the sense of dread that settled in his stomach. His age...  _wasn't_ a sensitive topic. It wasn't. No. He wasn't _vain,_ he wasn't! 

 

... No matter what Mycroft said.

 

Molly's mouth pinched. After a pause, she offered, "I'm fifty two, if that helps."

 

"It doesn't," he replied hastily. He fiddled with his coat sleeve, and sighed. When the silence stretched on, Molly started talking again.

 

"It's how fairies hunt down your kind. Humans have this habit, training kids to put their teeth under their pillow at night. If you crush a tooth, the magic of a... an  _other_  will die out. Nothing happens to a human child, but if one of your kind gets it-"

 

"The magic dies, we die," Sherlock finished. Molly bowed her head, nodding to confirm. Sherlock studied her carefully, his brow furrowing.

 

"You could kill me by crushing a single tooth."

 

"I'll be sticking my hands in your mouth," Molly pointed out, "A bit close for comfort, don't you think?"

 

"The ultimate trust exercise," the detective concluded. Molly exhaled slowly, and swallowed nervously. Sherlock mimicked her sigh, and tilted his head, "Well. What are we waiting for?"

 

Her head jerked back, shocked, "Are, are you s-"

 

"When I woke up in here I assumed that you were planning to do the worst with me," Sherlock explained, "I expected to be killed by someone who hated me personally. I can't expect to be killed by someone who's afraid of what I am, not when it's you."

 

Molly paused a moment, then got up and left. In the empty room, Sherlock had nothing but smells, strong in his nose, the stupid garlic right there. He sniffed, his nose wrinkling. Molly returned quickly, with plastic gloves on and a pair of-

 

"Pliers," Sherlock said, bemused. Molly looked at him as if she wanted to smile, but couldn't find the courage to. She kneeled down, and looked down at the garlic the same time he did. She reached to push it aside, and stopped.

 

"Molly," he said gently.

 

"How can _I_ be sure?" she murmured.

 

Sherlock looked down, at the edge of her sleeve, where her scar only just peeked out of her sleeve, the reminder of her attack.

 

"You saved my life. Surely you must know..." he looked up, meeting her scared gaze, "I owe you."

 

Her breathing hitched, "The fall."

 

" _My_ fall," he corrected, "Those words, I owe you. It's... it's important, Molly, it's important, it's-"

 

"Alright. I believe you, it's important," she nodded assuringly, and pushed the garlic away. She shuffled forwards on her knees, and reached into a pocket to retrieve a key for the lock on the cage. As she did, Sherlock's head blearily reminded him that he was still light headed, slowly yet surely developing a bad bump on the back of it. He shuffled back best he could to let Molly open the cage door, rubbing his temple with the heel of his palm as he did.

 

"Can you do the thing again?" Molly asked, "The whole... vamp up thing?"

 

They managed to look at each other for three seconds before bursting into giggles.

 

 _"Vamp up?"_ Sherlock repeated, incredulous.

 

"Sorry, sorry, I mean the-" she used her two index fingers to mimic fangs. Sherlock nodded, not needing the explanation. He let his jaw lower into its instinctive state, although this time around he attempted to make the transformation slower, to not startle the fairy crouched in front of him. His teeth slid into place, sharp as needles. He felt his eyes sting with the blood that flooded to them, tinging them dark red. Sherlock closed his eyelids over them, the pressure easing the temporary pain.

 

Molly's breathed stuttered out uneasily. No matter what he did to make her at ease, there was no way to get rid of the trauma. He was a reminder, and in this state he couldn't speak to assure her. He couldn't speak to her through eye contact, not when his eyes were wrong. He was vampire. He let out a breath, the air rattling like a snake's whisper in his throat before spitting out in an inhuman hiss.

 

Her hand slid along his cheek, gliding along the bottom of his jaw until she was able to cup his chin.

 

"I-I'll count to three," she said, and he lifted one shoulder to make her get on with it. He felt her put the pliers into place.

 

"One-" she squeezed the tool, "Two-"

 

Sherlock yelped, his jaw slipping back into place as Molly pulled her hand out of the way, plier and fang going with it. Blinking fast to return his eyes to normal, he held his chin tenderly as the pain ebbed away. He looked up at her in disbelief.

 

"What happened to _three!?_ "

 

"I panicked!" she cried.

 

He groaned, rubbing his aching jaw as he slumped back. Molly watched him nervously. After a moment of self-care, he glanced to her, and nodded, "You alright?"

 

Molly nodded back. With a sigh, Sherlock sat up again, and they both looked down at the long tooth Molly now held her in hand. His life in her hands. Somehow, he always found himself in this position. And he knew the outcome. Every time. He brought both of his hands underneath hers, and slowly closed her fingers over the fang.

 

"See?" Sherlock murmured, "I am yours now."

 

"Sherlock," Molly whispered, "I really shouldn't-"

 

"I trust you. I do," he insisted, because it was important for her to know, because she really wasn't getting it, was she? "I am Sherlock Holmes and I am yours."

 

Molly blinked, and tightened her grip around the tooth. Not enough to crush. Enough to protect and shield. Funny, how he'd been worrying about her needing protection from the other world, when the night ended with her protecting him from something absurdly of this world. Something utterly human, a beating heart, a life in one's hands.

 

"I have you," she promised, and he nodded. He took her hand in his own again, and brought it up. His thumb ran over her fingers as he turned her fist over. His hand just touched the scar left from her last encounter with a vampire. Sherlock glanced up to find her eyes, wide and... no, that wasn't fear in her eyes. Fear was a pebble in a pond, sinking until it hit sandy ground. Water and earth. The look in her gaze was stronger, like a wind that whipped a campfire around. The strength a woman had when she held a beating heart.

 

"I know," he muttered, "Believe me, I do."

 

Without thinking, he lowered his head, touching her wrist with his mouth. Molly's grip on the fang closed tighter around it, making him look up into the fire and wind in her eyes.

 

"What... what was that for?" she asked.

 

Sherlock wet his lips and opened his mouth to reply, only to realize he didn't have a clue. He hated not knowing.

 

"I'm sorry," he decided on, in case he had done the wrong thing.

 

Obviously not, considering the way her free hand moved to his cheek, pulling him towards her until his mouth crashed against hers. His eyes slipped shut, his hands moving to cup her own face. After a moment, she left a fleeting kiss on his bottom lip, and leaned away.

 

"I'm one hundred and sixty years old," he said, realizing belatedly he said out loud. He could feel his face turn warm, and prayed to whatever god out there that the blush wasn't that bad. Luckily, Molly giggled.

 

"That doesn't make this weird, does this? The age difference?" she wondered. Sherlock chuckled, and shook his head.

 

When their laughter dimmed into silence, he glanced around, and finally asked, "Can we get out of this cage now?"

 

" _Oh_ , sorry!" Molly got to her feet, kicking aside the garlic so Sherlock could get out of the cage. His joints popped and groaned as he stretched out his limbs, rolling his shoulders. His mortician stood by her chair, looking curiously at the tooth in her hand.

 

"You mentioned-" Sherlock started, making Molly look up in surprise, "Fairies, they're divided. Unseelie and the Seelie. Which kind are you?"

 

Molly hummed, and smiled at a joke Sherlock wasn't privy to. She turned her gaze to the fang and said, "Not really either, I'm not full fairy. But I guess tooth fairy works best."

 

Sherlock smirked, “ A vampire and a tooth fairy together?”

 

“Eating cookies and getting cavities?” Molly offered as a peace offering, holding up the abandoned plate of cookies. Sherlock leaned against her armchair as she sat down in it, and they did precisely that.

 

Her wrist was left bare and his tooth remained in her closed hand.


End file.
